The year starts with me parked in El Golfo de Santa Clara
(Sonora, Mexico) at the CRA RV park
just south of town.
To see how I got here, check here to see year
2003.
I survived New Years here in El Golfo. I think I can stay here until the first of March. Then I go to Yuma until it warms up. Around the first of March I should be back in San Jose for more medical things.
Some days just go wrong. I went into Yuma today. As usual I went from El Golfo through Algodones to the Yuma Kinko’s on 4th at about 20th. I called Samaritan Health Care again for my test-strip prescription. I got the Medical Assistance Line and left a message – third one – no reply. From Kinko’s I followed 4th Avenue around the corner to 32nd Street. A block before Pacific (Wal-Mart) street some yoyo in a big shiny pickup with new 5th wheel jerks out of a parking lot on the left side, across three lanes of traffic, through the boulevard and almost runs through me. I am glad I have good brakes although my forehead may not think so. He continues through in the left lane and lines up to turn left on Pacific Avenue. Well, he is already in the left lane. I go straight leaving me in the second left lane – also ready to turn left but away from this jack-in-the-box. Two cars in front of me go straight. I turn left slightly ahead of the jack-in-the-box. Oops. He takes the corner short and invades my lane. He is not just a jack-in-the box: he must be drunk. I jolt to the right but not enough. He nudges me. Darn. The guy probably has a gun. He has a cowboy hat. He slows down probably because he had trouble with the following 5th wheel. I pull into the left lane and into the center turn lane. I slowly pull into the Wal-Mart lot with him following. I worry about the gun. This is Arizona. People are violent here. I pull into the loop where the RVs park and I wait for him. He turns into the lot but does not follow me. Instead he goes jerking around the lot to the store front and then off to the north. I park my car and look for damage: a three-inch little bruise near my tail lamp where my paint is a little lighter. He probably uses that big rubber bumper frequently. I see him off to the north by the Wiener Schnitzel. Good riddance. I shop and return to Sam’s Club for ice cream and go home. Call the police? He hit me -- I stopped -- He did not. I do not need the trouble. I write this because I am still shaking in the middle of the night. Why do violent people seek me out? Otherwise my shopping trip to Yuma went just fine.
Nothing has really happened but I picked up some sort of infection. It did not go away in a week -- so I went to Yuma Emergency. I was admitted and had some minor surgery. I went home the next day. The surgery got better then it got worse. So, after 3 weeks I am back in the hospital with a serious urinary tract infection and will be here about a week. I miss my regular life. I miss my friends. And I hurt. It is now Sunday the 8th, in the hospital with no determination of the cause or the solution to the infection. Again some surgery to remove a cyst that is not responding to the antibiotic. Now I have an open wound that I have to fill with cotton tape until it heals up. Back to Yuma on the 18th to see the urologist. It shall be a bad year financially. I am in good health. I say that because all of these things and the diabetes will not get me down. They are a normal part of doing business on this earth. I have good friends and a good home and I enjoy the outside world. Whoever thinks that retirement gives you a lot of empty time is out of their mind.
I see a basic eMachines at Costco that may let me return to having both a mainframe and a laptop. I like having the two for the backup ability, the configurability of the larger machine, and no lockups. I already have the peripherals: I only need the box itself. I have to check my finances. With the hospital visits, two computers may be out of the question for another year and Gateway just bought eMachines. Nevertheless, en external hard drive for the laptop is $200 and only solves half the problem while adding another device to my already crowded tabletop. eMachines is a problem because I also have a thing against Gateway (they bought eMachines this month) when they required a certified check for a modem.
There is another reason to not write checks: I am still receiving letters from lawyers trying to get me to pay for the checks written by the RV thieves (See Disaster) 16 months ago. At this point, I could refer these letters to a lawyer but it is almost fun making replies to their nasty, threatening letters. These guys are good at applying pressure: they send the account from one law firm to the next, each sending me a more threatening letter than the last. The latest letter has questions about my employment, child support, home-ownership, liens, garnishments, and whatever they think will make me want to get them off my backs by giving in to their extortion.
Some store clerk at Rite-Aid, Radio Shack, and a couple other places sold the thieves something using the stolen checks. Obviously no attempt was made by the store clerk to identify the writer of the check. Now they expect me to pay them for the bounced checks to cover up for their ineptitude. The checks bounced because I closed the accounts immediately after finding the RV stolen (See Identity Theft). These days who accepts a check without identifying the writer? Wal-Mart even asks for my picture ID when I use my credit card – I thank them for this.
Back to life. I am at the CRA RV Park. I thank Pat every time I see him, maybe silently to myself, that he has permitted me to stay here – even though I have been in Yuma – for the season. Choppy-choppy. I help people with their computers and am considered by him as staff. My friend Adelbierto (aka Gordo) was fired and I go visit his family today. I take some food and sneak Sara twelve bucks more for food. There is no welfare here in Mexico and I wonder how they will survive. I offer to take her daughter off her hands but get a negative response. I tell her that it is unfair for her to be growing a third child while I have none to take care of. Sometimes I think she takes me seriously. The problem is that I would be serious if it were really an option. She is raising a great family except for her problem child: Gordo.
In another couple of weeks, I shall have everything put back together and can look at my finances. GMAC insurance will be history even if the new company costs more. I need the satisfaction of dumping them for the problems they caused me on settling the claim on my RV. All policies from the RV Alliance agency (Escapees) include Mexican coverage. I need this before I return to the states. I also need to buy a brake system since Fleetwood, according to the class-action suit, makes motor homes with insufficient braking to stop the rig when towing a Tercel. That is $1,200 more dollars – by March if I enter the class action.
Since I am very poor this year, traveling out of the area is out of the question. I really want to make better Mexican friends and learn their language. I hate the humid summer heat in El Golfo but I think I can manage Arizona. I must spend time in San Jose to get my medical situation straightened out. This means that maybe some visits to Megan’s apartment with the RV stored in Yuma or EL Golfo. Maybe a trip to Atlanta. I need to start walking my two miles each morning. Every morning. I need to find a soul mate. Maybe Megan is correct: I have been alone so long that being with someone permanently will not happen. Maybe the medical problems will preclude enjoying sex. Maybe all sorts of things. Nothing can remove the joy of sitting with a woman in the sand and watching the sunset over the Baja.
I made it to March. Because of the 2 hospital visits last month, I am a bit weaker and need to improve my stamina but other than that I think I am in good health. I am happy and am having to decide what to do for the next two years.
My daughter, Bree, has decided to not repay her loan. She borrowed a lot of money when she got divorced so that she could start with a clean credit record. The hole in my early-retirement money causes me serious economic problems. She knew when she borrowed the money that I needed it back by last year. Until spring she made payments that did not even meet interest I owed on the money. Now she just heaps her unhappiness of her childhood on my head. It is hard to give up on a daughter but sooner or later it gives you headache. Since last year was such a financial disaster and I recover slowly from such things, I am in tough financial shape.
Nevertheless, I have decided to limit my travels as I stated above. I have four choices:
Which way I should go varies by time of day and how I feel. I love the Mexican people and culture. I could still commute monthly to Yuma to buy groceries and supplies. How long to own this motorhome is a concern. If I buy a lot (house), then I do not need the RV but it is an asset while it is alive. The longer it is parked in one place, the more likely it is to grow problems. The CRA lots will be sold in another year. I have found a nice house in town for a good price – about the same price as a CRA lot.
It is decision time and I am not good at decisions that will influence my life this much. I was inclined to do both 1 and 4. That is, buy the CRA lot and travel small amounts. If I run into trouble, high tail it safely back into Mexico. Otherwise, just plan to spend the winters here.
Any choice but the first requires me to take money from my retirement account. I am worried about doing this during the “Bush-Recovery” (read as: ongoing recession). Today, I think I shall just go live in the desert until fall and settle it then.
I leave El Golfo on Wednesday 17. I have a doctor appointment in Yuma on the 24th so I shall stay they for a week before going north. It is getting seriously warm here. I have been invited to a horse ranch in Yécora and may do so but not until I have had enough time to get everything back in shape in the Estados Unidos.
Decisions, decisions.
I am not poor but I live poorly compared to a few years ago. My expenses have been high due to medical costs, money owed, and the earlier loss of the RV. My primary splurge is my Carl’s Junior Hamburger each week.
I have friends in the Estados Unidos that make their food budget go far beyond mine. I buy gifts for those friends and others: I hate to see people in trouble.
Have you seen the newsreels of people in Afghanistan and Pakistan? Have you seen people with no homes at all? These are poor. Where I stay in Mexico, I have friends that are poor. These live in a rented house. One house has a roof (it leaks seriously when it rains). The walls are made of plywood chunks nailed in place. The furniture is three beds, a couple tables, a refrigerator, and a chair. The floor is dirt. The bathroom is sort of a room off the back with a big tub. There is no running water but there are plenty of cucarachas. There is electricity: wires hanging around the room have a light bulb. They have a small black and white TV. There are no windows but there is a door with a chain through the hole for a lock. Sara sweeps the floor frequently to pick up the junk that falls down. It seems strange to see someone sweep a dirt floor. There are boxes under the bed with changes of clothing. The food is in the refrigerator. The cat gets whatever it can find. It is a scruffy grey cat – pregnant. The cat eats any rodents and bugs it finds. The neighbor dog had pups. A couple of the pups hang around the house. They have dug holes under the plywood to get in and out for when the door is closed. When they are grown, they will protect the house from strangers. With no windows, it is very hot in the summer. It is March and the outside temperatures have already been as high as 90. In another month they will stay at 100 degrees and the humidity will be high from the ocean. There is no AC although they do have a fan. Outside, they wet down the yard to keep the dust down. They pull the grass to keep the bugs and rodents away. Their rent is $30 per month. The electricity this month is $20. They do not have money for either. No phones. He has worked odd jobs for the last couple of days. Sara is four months pregnant. She thinks it is twins. They already have two kids. They are all happy. The entire community is happier than most people I know. Their best friends live a couple blocks away: their house is notably poorer. Most of the neighbors are poorer than my friends here. He had a good job but was fired for poor performance. Poverty is not the same as in the Estados Unidos.
It is the middle of March and I have moved into the CRA Park in Yuma after a night at the Escapees Park. I start getting organized for my return to Mexico in another month. I am trying to take Sara up on her offer to go to her mother’s house in May. A lot of work between now and then. I went shopping at Yuma Wal-Mart today. Another shopping cart thief.
But enough of that. I needed something to cool off a bit. Today I drove sown to El Golfo to tell Sara and family that I intended to take her up on her offer of a couple weeks at her mother’s ranch in Yécora. Yesterday, I discovered that my FMT (Mexican Tourist permit) had expired as well as my Mexican insurance. I could wait until Monday and get things straightened out or go unprotected today. I chose the latter. I also had a bunch of gifts for the family. I also had some plastic eggs with candy inside to pass out among the children of friends. You know me: the perpetual Easter Bunny/Santa Claus.
The day went well. The weather was clear, families were in good shape, and the drive down was uneventful. We had a nice day at the beach where I almost but did not get stuck in the sand. My Spanish had deteriorated in just three weeks. I started home with the expectation that a 30-minute wait at San Luis would give me an hour to run my generator within the park hours. No such luck. As I drove through town, some nut case zigzagging through lanes decided to zig right into the right side of my car. He bounced off back into his lane and sped off. I pulled to the right to pull over but he was gone. I thought of pursuing him but remembered my lack of insurance would put me in jail. He sped off on a side road ending the matter: I was not about to pursue him. I had heard no metal shear and knew that the worst that I would have would be paint scrapes and minor sheet metal bruising. He had a late model something or other and would have worse damage, as he was not a Saturn. When I eventually did stop, I found I was correct: a few red-orange stripes on my paint.
Now we write about what really got my goat today. I went my merry way to the end of the San Luis Border crossing exit line. The right lane was over 20 cars shorter so I took my chances. The left lane is faster but last time it was 10 cars faster. This was the wrong choice this time. Someone up there in the booth must be intentionally giving everyone a hard time.
Let’s backtrack a bit here. One of the more unpleasant experiences in Dallas (there were many of them) was shopping. Shopping for anything. It was an effort to convince the store clerk that you wanted to buy something. Anything. In most other cities, the clerks try to sell you things. Sometimes before you are ready. In Dallas you had to fight the clerk to buy something – even after you found a clerk.
Back on track. An hour and a quarter later, I was right: a big bozo was giving everyone in his (my) lane a tough time. He also decided to give me a tough time. I have learned from experience to roll my window down and stop and wait for the INS guy to start asking questions. Not this bozo. He made strange gestures as if pantomiming “why are you in my lane?” A good question that I already regretted not answering sooner by being elsewhere. I did not react to the pantomime and he repeated the gestures in my face. Now I was sure he was a Tejano but you sit quietly when control freaks are acting out their problems. He eventually asked if I were an American citizen and where was I born.
He also wanted my registration and title as I was missing the required Texas Inspection sticker on my windshield. I tried to explain to him that in Texas the sticker itself is the registration (I found this out when the RV was stolen two years ago). He told me that he was from Texas (righto!) and that this was not true. He also told me that the inspection sticker is required. He gave me an orange slip and directed me to the holding area. He actually called me a liar.
Another bozo came out and agreed with the first bozo. He was also sure he was right because he also came from Texas. He called the local police to cite me for improper registration and having registration for the wrong state since I was currently living in Arizona. This all took another half hour. So much for charging my batteries for the night. The San Luis policeman came in about 10 minutes, asked a few relevant questions, and sent me on my way. He was discussing the matter with the Texans (Tejanos?) as I drove away.
I shall correct this matter as soon as I am able. I shall carry in the Tercel: a copy of the car title (I have the original in the RV with the rest of my papers), a copy of the registration fees paid, a copy of the Mexico Insurance policy. In the Flair I need the same things
When you apply for Texas Title and Registration to be delivered out of state, you also get a letter exempting you from inspection until you enter the state. This seems so obvious that it never occurred to me to keep it in the vehicle. Since no one would care except the Texas Highway patrol and by the time they see it, I will have the inspection sticker. Wrong. Texas Ex-cops playing God as INS Border Patrol notice no sticker and in playing God call down their wrath upon you. I mean, think about it: the Texas License authorities are able to send you title, license, and registration. They cannot mail you an inspection sticker (although they charge you the inspection fee) and other states do not issue inspection stickers for their neighbors. Until I get to Texas there is no inspection sticker. Duh!
I can get these copies as I already have them or at least all but the exemption letter. The paper I do need was not asked for: a copy of the title to the motorhome. I shall need that to go to Yécora next month.
I shall need the exemption letter, as I shall not be in Texas in this lifetime if I can avoid it. As far as I am concerned, the Dixie Chicks had it almost right. Apologizing to the world that the President was from Texas was almost right. It would have been better to apologize that he was a Texan. It takes a soul greater than mine for civilized Texans to deal with the quantity of rudeness and arrogance of their compatriots.
I am having some reservations about this trip: this is the longest trip that I have taken since two years ago to Atlanta. On the Atlanta trip I had to deal with a hailstorm, Texans, and rejection. This trip is shorter and the people friendlier. In general.
I must look more into the tolls – I hear they are exorbitant and the local police have scams for those who circumnavigate the tollbooths. By the way “banditos” is an American concept. The Mexicans do not even understand the word. If you want to speak Mexican and mean bandits or thieves, use “rateros”. I have not even met anyone who has encountered a bandito. I have met many who complain about police scams, as you get further inland. Hopefully my Mexican family can get past any of these.
I worry about crossing the ‘frontier’. The entire trip relies on no incident here. I have planned for the permits. I do not know what they will think of transporting a family: it could be easier or harder. That is why they call it “unknown”.
Then there is Yécora. I do not understand Sara when she pantomimes a rifle and pulls her ears. She thinks it is a joke when I tell her that I like my ears as they are. I hear from other Americans that there are many affluent Americans in Yécora with mansions and fields of marijuana. No wonder they have rifles. Mary Jane and I do not get along. Ask my ex-wife: anyone smoking it even near the house gives me horrible nightmares.
Then there is the road to Yécora. Most of the road from Nogales to Hermosillo (the capital of Sonora) is flat and heading toward the sea. Yécora is in the mountains. They draw switchbacks in the sand indicating serious curves. Much more serious than the ones Sara drew for me at first. Others also address the steep hills. This could be a problem if the road is too narrow or not paved. They tell me it is well paved. They do not understand narrow: all Mexican roads are narrow to American standards. Moreover, Mexican roads do not have shoulders. I mean no shoulders at all. This means I could be working hard to stay alive when some rico Norte Americano in his BMW comes around the curve. The tourist book says to take two drivers so that they alternatively enjoy the view. The view comes with a downside.
Then again my daughter says that my old dentist has asked about me. He referred to me as “quirky”. I presume that is a euphemism but for what I am not sure.
In two days we leave for Yécora. So starts the great adventure. I have also arranged with Pat to spend the next season here with a DirecWay Dish/Computer Network setup. This will provide a high-speed data link for the park along with some computer services like printing and CD copies of photographs. If possible this will be the start of an enterprise that will permit me to live here and permit CRA and Pat to have an enviable connection to the online world.
The problem at hand (my great adventure for the year) is that I shall now be driving 800 miles across a foreign country with a family that does not speak English and is used to having a dirt floor. I have heard of people who never grow up but I have now found one. The husband is a big kid who has refused any responsibility for anything except that he is faithful to his spouse. For that I give him credit. He is as unpredictable as a five year old and refuses to take commands from anyone for anything. He has no concept of personal ownership except for himself. I see this as the biggest challenge of the trip. I mean I like him. I am just fearful that bad things will happen with him along.
I have already spent the effort at getting the pretty hologram for the RV (permission to enter Mexico past the frontier). I am really looking forward to this adventure but there is the fear of the great unknown. But then it is only unknown once.
We are on our way. I have been up most of the night getting ready. I spent a several hundred dollars in food and supplies. I caught up on computer stuff while in Yuma yesterday. Sara is upset with me because all I talk about is gastos (expenses -- as I learn later). They have no idea. We get to San Luis and buy more groceries. The problem is that she spends most of the money I give her for food on presents for family. With my history of family this is very hard to understand but I did make the mistake of giving her control of the grocery money. We leave San Luis 4 hours later with gifts for everyone and enough food for a meal. Maybe.
We pass more soldados on the road from San Luis to Santa Ana (pronounced Santana). They walk through with a short look-a-round. No problem.
We have a nice lunch in Santa Ana (pictures), read the map, and head for Puerto Peñasco. More things broken, dirtied, and the RV complaining about the heat. I so need to find a single woman to marry. Sara reminds me of that every five minutes. The soldados at El Doctor had waved us through without stopping. To my family this was strange. I remind them that I have bought cake and cookies for the soldiers in the past. It is also a hot day and maybe it is just our turn to be waved through.
We drive to Puerto Peñasco for the night. The RV is having trouble with the weight and the heat. I mean the RV is packed from one end to the other. I packed more than usual; my family showed up (promptly) with about twice what I thought was coming, including a portable microwave and a TV. A suitcase that is twice what Megan and I took to Europe for a month and God knows what else they have. I did not ask what was in the second suitcase that was larger than the first. The weight I am sure exceeds Fleetwood’s numbers. The heat is about 105°. The RV still has too much transmission fluid (although I removed two quarts after Professional RV tried to overfill it and claimed that they had had a Ford dealer service it). The transmission is complaining something awful. I had been referred to an RV park Playa Elegante. We finally found it although not even close to the web page directions. It could have been worse but not by much. I paid for one night and we took off early in the morning. Like El Golfo, the electricity is hot. Hot? It runs over 130 VAC.
This city on the Mexican Coast of the Sea of Cortez is sort of like Honolulu only poorer and scaled back a bit and no Navy. The only purpose of this city is to relieve a tourist of any excess money. There are services, restaurants, RV parks, parks, and the beach. Many people and many streets.
Early is not the same as I would have done by myself. I would have been up at 5:30 and gone by 6:00. We were up at 5:30 but left after 8:00. I was ready for some level of culture shock but not what I encountered. I mean in one day, if anything were loose or breakable it was off and missing or broken. We got pictures of barren bushes. I got no help at all with navigation and in fact attempts to ask for help are met with negative attitude. I was resenting that I had done this. The hardest part was dealing with my floor.
I have carpet throughout the RV -- The same as most RVs. Mine was replaced and is better than the original equipment (thank you Professional RV) but it is a sandy, cream color that shows all dirt. I am lucky in one respect: it does not show sand. I did enforce my no shoes rule. I had bought barachos (sandals) for everyone and these were to be left at the door. Getting in and out was a problem because they left both their shoes and their sandals on the steps.
The real problem was that at home they have a dirt floor that Sara sweeps several times a day. For the kids this means that anything that they do not want gets tossed on the floor. This varies from more dirt to wrappers to food to whatever else. It also includes clothes that mommy gets to pick up. I find this behavior difficult to handle with their dirt floor. I want to scream when I find pieces of tomato and lettuce in my carpet. May someday God bless me with a wife as patient a Sara. I am not permitted to yell at the children and convincing Sara or Gordo that tossing trash on the floor is a problem for me. Tossing garbage on the floor is a serious problem for me. The kids know this and hide what they throw on the floor.
By the way, the following is a list of similar complaints but they are more intended to show a cultural difference than just to bitch. You see I have walked into a situation where I do not know the language. The culture is very different. And the poverty level of the family is lower than anything I have even heard of in the Estados Unidos. In the EEUU (USA), people as poor as this qualify for all sorts of government assistance. They are also told to get to work. Here in Mexico, such poverty is accepted and common. When they want fresh air in their house, they remove part of the wall. Since they have no money and they have never consistently worked for money, they have no concept of working for improving their life style. When I come along they do not understand why I am reticent to keep spending money on them. I have it, they want, I should give them what they want or I should shut up and hide the money. I have seen similar behavior I the EEUU in poor areas – it is an area that the middle class (me excepted?) does not understand. In the USA we are taught I middle class schools that if we want more, work smarter and harder. In lower class schools they are taught to buy lottery tickets. They are taught this not in school but in the advertisements for the lottery which are aimed directly at the poor and then have a small, exculpatory, print line at the end to buy the tickets with discretion. The upper class needs no lottery tickets or work. There is effectively no middle class in the third world and Mexico is certainly third world.
If this is a problem to understand, drive through any town in Mexico. There are sections in any of these that remind you quickly of the streets you saw in the news regarding Afghanistan or Pakistan. Now look for subdivisions of homes like you find in any city in the USA. You may actually find one. And rarely you will find one that is owned by Mexicans – the others are owned by gringos.
So we make it from Puerto Peñasco to Hermosillo. We really did. We passed the infamous security frontier and I was worried about having the right papers. I had bought the hologram. The papers for this and the children’s birth certificates and a nice smile from Sara got us past the immigration inspection. The second stage is the customs inspection. No papers, just a walk through. No problem. We enter the toll road from Santa Ana to Hermosillo. It is a good road. You have to get used to the roads in Mexico. The lanes are narrow and uneven and there is no shoulder. I mean there is no shoulder at all. The road may slant off into the desert or it may drop of sharply for a couple of meters. The road always seems to be above grade level – it is just a matter of by how much and how steep the cliff. In no case would the RV survive leaving the highway. If you have a problem, stop in the roadway, set up your markers, and try to fix the problem or wait for help. Make sure you have enough gasoline for your trip. The Pemex (pronounced Pay-Mex) tend to cluster and it may be a long time between them. Pay the price and be happy with a full tank of gas. If you cannot pay the price, do not drive. There are camions (buses) everywhere.
Hermosillo is a nightmare. The streets are narrow and confusing. The drivers in a hurry and I do have Mexican Insurance but I do not want to have to use it.
We cannot make it to Yécora tonight so we aim for Bahia Kino – west on the beach. We are lost in town and stopping to ask for help is hard for any man. Stopping and having Sara ask when I have an RV and there are angry motorists behind me is even harder. When the RV slips and bumps badly in first gear, I fear for the worst. We get out of town on the same roads I would have taken without the help. I have a great sense of direction and geometry – I got lost once in the desert on a dirt bike. It was terrifying. Maybe it is less terrifying to people who get lost frequently but I have made sure that it has never happened again. I may not know where I am or where I am going but lost I am not. I do have problems with distance. My map is printed in miles and we are in kilometers. It is almost twice as far to Bahia Kino as I thought. The web pages say there are 8 RV parks on the beach. We finally pass one. It is painted with pastel colors and has a cabin thing next to each site. It is obvious that this is out of our price range. We pass a sign saying Western Horizons. I have a coupon for them. I back up and reread the sign: 10.4 miles to the east on a dirt road. Are they crazy? Why drive 100 km to the beach only to return for 17? We see a quaint little park and stop for the night. I send the family to the beach while I recover my sanity and the RV.
Oh. About the third time since I started writing this segment the local speaker truck is driving by. These towns have a population that has no local radio or TV stations and if they do, many homes do not have matching hardware. To make sure that everyone knows to buy products and go to the fair, the speaker trucks come by loudly announcing products and events. This has been true of any place I have been in Mexico. I rarely know what they are saying but it sounds like the same announcer in all of them. This also reminds me. The Mexican movies and shows are much more explicit in sex and violence than those in the EEUU. Not as gory and colorful as Indian/Pakistani movies but along the same lines. People die more terrible deaths. Girls wear tighter, smaller outfits.
And another thing. Mattel has gone off the deep end. Mattel? They make Barbie dolls. They now have lines of nationalistic Barbies. And there is the competition. I do not know if they are Mattel but they have similar dolls – some with bigger heads. Barbie seems to have lost a few or maybe many inches in her bust line since I was a kid. But I know of zero Mexican niñas that want a Mexican Barbie. If it is not a gringo Barbie with yellow hair, why bother to call it Barbie? I even saw a Mattel Barbie family doll set that was middle-aged. A 5-year-old little girl wants a middle-aged set of dolls to look up to? I don’t think so. I tried several Wal-Marts before finding one with gringo Barbies at a low price. I do not buy the high-priced collectible Barbies (I did for my daughter Bree but no more).
We leave Bahia Kino (taking the park keys with us -- oops) and head back for Hermosillo. We stop at the Super Wal-Mart for some more gifts and groceries. Sara has no more money. I know where most of it went. I do not know where the rest of it went. Wal-Mart accepts my Visa. I am surprised, as I do not remember telling them that I was going into Mexico. Maybe all of the purchases at the border towns – at least one challenged – added the Mexico permission. In any case, I was glad they did as I have just about enough cash to get us back to El Golfo -- hungry.
After getting out of the Wal-Mart with only a single incident, we head toward Yécora. Incident? Jonathon drops his giant candy wrapper on the floor. I yell at him. Sara tells me to not yell at her son. He returns for the wrapper but does not throw it into the trash. We get to the exit and Gordo is missing. We do not remember the last time we saw him. We did in the produce section and thought he followed us out. Oops. The family takes off looking for him. After about 10 minutes Gordo comes up with a bottle of wine. He knows I will not pay for it and heads off looking for his family. Waiting for them to return is out of the question. My Spanish will not stop him and he always knows less English when you want him to do anything. In a few minutes a security guard returns with Jonathon in tow: he want me to pay for the sucker that Jonathon has long ago finished but is carrying around the foil wrapper. I show the man the receipt but he does not care. The receipt is in Spanish and abbreviated as they do in English so that they know what you bought and if you are clever can figure out most of what you bought. I keep talking until Sara returns. She talks the guard out of repaying for the sucker. Gordo shows up a few minutes later with a paid-for bottle of wine. I suspect I now where he got the money.
We head out of town looking for signs for Yécora. I know that the Wal-Mart is on the proper road but Sara has to ask passers-by anyway. Now she is angry with me because I did not make it clear that I knew the way. My Microsoft map program does not give street-by-street of non-USA cities but it still gives main road directions. In other words, it knows but does not say. Hmm. We pass a giant Costco and a large Sam’s Club. If we had more time, I would have liked to stop at Costco just to show them the store. But then again, it would have cost more money. Off to Yécora.